


That's Not A Recon, That's An Assault

by Kahtya Sofia (KahtyaSofia)



Category: Generation Kill
Genre: Gen, Last Author Standing - tvnetwork2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-15
Updated: 2011-02-15
Packaged: 2017-10-15 16:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/162898
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KahtyaSofia/pseuds/Kahtya%20Sofia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brad's Humvee drives rapidly toward the assault on the airfield, and the whole thing has him furious.</p>
            </blockquote>





	That's Not A Recon, That's An Assault

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Round 1, Challenge 1 of the tvnetwork2 Last Author Standing challenge. I made it through to the second challenge.
> 
> Prompt: fast and furious

The fact the LT has to shake Brad awake is a bad sign. Brad’s situational awareness should have had him opening his eyes at the sound of the LT’s approach. Hell, his _personal_ awareness usually made him hyper-aware of Nate’s proximity. Dread settles in Brad’s belly like a lead weight.

 _“Echo-five-charlie, Echo-five-echo; you know why we’re doin’ this, now?”_ Poke asks Brad over comms.

“Echo-five-echo; Alpha ran out of time,” Brad answers.

They’re assaulting a fucking airfield in broad fucking daylight. This is all Alpha’s goddamn fault. If they’d completed their fucking recon mission in time, Brad would know what he’s rolling into.

Jesus, this is retarded. Their piece-of-shit Humvee shudders so much, Brad expects it to fall apart around them. The rattle of their gear and the clanking of the vehicle itself, makes it impossible for him to hear any of the comm chatter.

The A10s roar overhead, like this isn’t already a fucking suicide mission. Air Force likes to shoot Marines. Ray pushes their speed faster than is wise, but they have their orders. Dried brush and dirt mounds blur in Brad’s periphery. The hard-packed earth makes the Humvee bounce violently. It jars his spine, slams his hips into the seat, and rattles his teeth in his head. He has to take his finger off the fucking trigger, or risk an accidental discharge.

 _“Echo-four-lima, Echo-five-romeo.”_ Brad could just barely hear Rudy trying to raise Lilley. _“Watch your dispersion, you’re gettin’ too close, brother.”_

This is bad fucking tactics. Brad understands danger; it’s stupidity that pisses him off. Godfather sends them onto an airfield without knowing what they’re facing. Just about as tactically sound as leaving behind a truck carrying their chow and their weapons.

Their speed is so great, wind whips in through Brad’s window. It stings his cheeks and makes his eyes water. The trip is so bone-jarring, his Kevlar shifts on his head, knocking his headset against his ear. How Ray is keeping control is a fucking mystery. One deep rut, and they could easily swerve into the Humvee next to them.

 _“Echo-five-charlie, Echo-five-echo …”_ the rest of Poke’s transmission is lost in the chaos. Brad keys his mic and tells him so.

Walt shouts that the MK-19 is down. Brad’s about to lose his shit. That fucking gun is down, _again_ , because Griego is an incompetent buffoon and can’t get them the fucking LSA they need. Brad knows it’s a good thing he wasn’t there when the asshole had said; _it doesn’t matter if we’re right or wrong._ As if dropping Arti on your own men is ever _right_.

Brad radios Nate that the fucking gun is down. Nate seems to take it in stride, and Brad’s grateful.

Nate’s voice is calm and steady in his ear. Brad takes a deep breath and lets that influence wash over him, help him settle down. He hopes he sounds a little less strung-out when he answers Nate’s transmission.

There’s a berm ahead. They’re gonna have to go over it. They’re gonna be sitting goddamn ducks when they do. Humvees are weaving all over the fucking place. Their speeds are too high to correct, in time, if one of them veers too far either direction. Brad feels the burst of speed in the old vehicle’s diesel engine, when Ray tromps on the accelerator and sends them flying over the crest of the berm.

It’ll only take a small group of Republican Guard with AK-47s to kill a bunch of them. One or two RPG teams and Brad or Nate - or even both of them - could be fucking history. _Fuck_. Brad hopes those tanks aren’t manned.

 


End file.
